{rescued & re-written, perhaps resurrected}

the walk
for Piper Jane

never having tasted battery acid
I can't say for sure it's what your mouth
fills with, remembering

you won't forget it, though it'll burn less,
your bile overtaking his breath – every bald man
in Nikes will stop being him

in twenty years you'll dream
of running, holding your two-
year-old brother, wake up
feeling safe

we all ask what kind of man
offers a nine-year-old five dollars
to suck his dick, read the newspapers
clinging to our ability to be appalled
like a priest to faith
after hearing his own confession

what kind of sidewalk wouldn't swallow
such a man whole

what unholy preparation is this

blame the pavement. blame the unloving mother, the bus driver
who took the long way home, the bully. what we pass on
defines us more absolutely than what we carry

or so we can hope –

there are reasons I won't go into
I can't stand whistling when I can't see
the mouth / welcome, girly girl. it's an ugly club
but we all belong.

from now, unwrap your hands
in your pockets like so much meat,
carry keys between. go for the eyes
the groin the dip at the base of the throat

walk like the cleaver in your mother's purse,
winking in its velvet sheath.